


Sometimes I Call It Tuesday, Sometimes I Call It The Best Day of My Life

by teenuviel1227



Series: Commissions July-August 2018 [9]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Big Reveal, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 16:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15800703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: The one where it’s Wonpil’s birthday and he can have anything he wants--but all he wants is a hug from Sungjin.





	Sometimes I Call It Tuesday, Sometimes I Call It The Best Day of My Life

**Author's Note:**

> This one was commissioned by anpanmayo; thank you for giving me an opportunity to write more Sungpil.

The thing about being someone like Kim Wonpil, that is, being a piano genius, Mr. Congeniality, the Music Department’s campus sweetheart, and voted Professor of the Year three straight years in a row, is that he can get pretty much anything that he wants (boys, girls, fame, friends, this gigantic party being thrown for him for no other reason than, well, having been born, it seems)--and yet always seems to be pining for the one thing that he can’t have. Tonight is his twenty-fourth birthday and his colleagues have thrown him the bash of a lifetime: something that he didn’t expect at all. When Dowoon had said  _ let’s go out to dinner for your birthday _ , Wonpil had envisioned something along the lines of samgyeupsal with bottles and bottles of beer or Brian asking them over to his place to take advantage of his Buy 1, Take 1 Domino’s Pizza deal or even Jae insisting that they eat at that Japanese place where everything was made of alternative (read: hypoallergenic) ingredients on the grounds that he sponsor their post-dinner noraebang adventures. 

But what Wonpil hadn’t expected was the rooftop function hall of a hip bar off campus rented out and packed full of his colleagues and friends--even Jinyoung had shown up, fresh off of his flight from San Francisco--with his favorite electro-dance pop music blaring through the speakers. What he hadn’t expected was everyone to be wearing matching versions of his hot pink sweater as a joke. What he hadn’t expected was for a sudden sadness to wash over him despite the fact that he was grinning ear-to-ear, despite the fact that he  _ did  _ appreciate it, despite the fact that he was, for the most part, happy. 

The thing is that there’s one thing--well, one thing from one person--that Wonpil wants, and he knew, even from skimming and scanning the faces in the crowd, that that person wouldn’t be here tonight. 

Park Sungjin: traditional voice professor, a year Wonpil’s senior, and formerly the school’s esteemed visiting professor--well, that is, now the school’s newly-minted addition to the permanent faculty after he’d decided to stay. 

Floppy hair, eyes like a galaxy, lips curling into a smile at the sight of Wonpil--and then moving to sit at his desk, not another word spoken.

More than his  _ actual _ absence, what bothered Wonpil was that he knew that he wouldn’t get any explanation whatsoever for Sungjin’s absence--because that’s just the kind of guy that Sungjin was: smart and confident and amicable, but also set in his ways, also firm in every careful decision he made so that no one (not even Brian, who could get away with anything and had gotten the department to repeal their no dating within the department rule by well, dating Jae, no matter what anyone said) could demand an explanation from him and still sound reasonable. Every question would sound like an inquisition, an interrogation--so no question would be asked in the first place. 

So now, despite the fact that his favorite song is playing, and his favorite people are dancing in one of Wonpil’s favorite places in town, he’s here: standing by the balcony, sulking. Wonpil sighs, taking a sip from the drink they were calling the Kim WonPirrieMirrie which he knew was really just a cosmopolitan that they’d doused with hot pink food coloring to get it pink-knit-pink. Any other day, he’d be over the moon at having everyone he loved in one place on his special day. Any other day, he’d be out there on the dance floor, cutting it up with Dowoon and showing people what dancing looked like.

But today isn’t just any old birthday. Today’s a year since he and Sungjin started--well, whatever it is that he and Sungjin started. 

Last year on his birthday, Wonpil had asked his best friends from the department--including the new guy, whom Wonpil had set his sights on at first glance, immediately enamored by Sungjin’s demeanor and, if he’s being honest, Sungjin’s professional reel that they’d all watched at the department over lunch break the week before (the guy had a set of pipes that just  _ woke _ something in him)--over to his place for dinner. 

He’d cooked and Brian had brought the drinks--which of course meant that all of them had gotten plastered. Brian and Jae had gone home early, Jae already asleep after the second shot of Tequila, Brian already having downed half a bottle of Soju, and talking about finding a pool and diving to the bottom to find a coin he’d lost when he was a kid. When they’d left, Dowoon had gone with them to split the cab because all of his friends were at the computer shop where they played LoL and he needed to scrimp all he could for extra hours. 

_ See ya, Pirrie. _

That left Wonpil, giggly and flustered and still holding onto reality, but only by the skin of his teeth, his tongue loose, his cheeks pink from drinking, and Sungjin, calm but grinning wider than usual, a vision with his necktie half-undone, the sleeves on his polo rolled up as he helped Wonpil clean up. They’d done the dishes, Sungjin soaping while Wonpil rinsed, and Wonpil fel his stomach drop with every instance that his fingers brushed against Sungjin’s as they passed each other plates, glasses, silverware. By the end of it, they plopped down on Wonpil’s couch, sharing the last of the pink wine between them, not bothering with glasses, just drinking it from the bottle.

“Happy Birthday, by the way,” Sungjin had said, taking Wonpil by surprise as he leaned in to envelope him in the warmest of hugs. “I didn’t greet you earlier--”

“--Oh. Thanks,” Wonpil said, finding a high better than the booze buzz, as he rested his cheek against Sungjin’s shoulder, leaning into the embrace. “It’s been a good one.” 

As they pulled away, there had been a moment, a split-second of doubt: and then Sungjin had seemed to make up his mind, had reached out and softly tipped Wonpil’s chin up toward him before leaning down to close the distance between them in a soft, warm, but passionate kiss. Warm breath, soft sighs, all tongue and teeth.

When they pulled away, both of them were out of breath and blushing, a little embarrassed--but also eager, also wanting more. 

It was Wonpil who broke the silence. 

“That’s been on my wishlist for a while.”

“Oh yeah?” Sungjin grinned, raised an eyebrow before putting an arm around Wonpil’s shoulders. “Well, you’re in luck--a lot more where that came from.”

The rest of the night was spent just cuddling in an odd, off-hand way, both of them talking like they’d known each other forever, with all the excitement of every story being new, every anecdote being a new way to learn something about each other. Nothing had happened--not on  _ that  _ night, anyway, although the weeks to come were another story--but they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, the next morning all soft kisses and laughter as Wonpil woke up to Sungjin making them breakfast. 

It was the start of something wonderful--a year, now, of tender lovemaking and evenings spent watching their favorite shows on Wonpils couch, of hand-holding under the table of departmental meetings, of being head-over-heels in love with each other. And yet, there was something about it that was imperfect, too, something that Wonpil hesitated to bring up.

The thing about Sungjin was that he and Wonpil were very different people in terms of how they felt affirmed. The argument is one that Wonpil’s familiar with, that Wonpil’s heard one too many times: Sungjin is a very private person, Sungjin doesn’t really see why they have to announce anything or tell anyone, Sungjin was, as far as Sungjin was concerned, very much Wonpil’s boyfriend. But the thing about being Kim Wonpil--loved, adored, doted on--is that his personal space is as thin as a hair on a newborn’s head: he likes telling his friends things, likes sharing things with the people he loves, likes the gushing and the attention and telling everyone how it happened. The thing about being Kim Wonpil is that even if he knows that to a certain extent, Sungjin is right, even if he knows that they don’t have anything to prove, knows that their love is their love alone,  _ not  _ telling Jae and Brian when Jae and Brian were practically eating each other’s faces every time he saw them off-campus (and sometimes on-campus, if he’s being honest) is killing him. 

A year of practically living together and on campus, they still talk like colleagues. 

His twenty-fourth birthday and Wonpil is out on the balcony of his own party, sulking because last night they’d had a big fight: Wonpil wanted to finally tell everyone at dinner, Sungjin didn’t see why he kept insisting that they had to do that. At this point, as Wonpil downs the rest of his Kim WonPirrieMirrie and watches Jae and Brian out on the street, laughing as Jae pinned Brian to the hood of some poor, innocent bystander’s car parked by the alley, he thinks that he would take a  _ hug _ . Or hell, a fucking handshake in public, if only to have Sungjin there. 

Maybe, Wonpil thinks, readjusting the bright pink party hat in the shape of a crown that they’d given him, tucking the strap under his chin, he’d feel better if he just got out there, just forgot about the whole Sungjin thing, just acted like none of it ever happened, and got on with his life. Except, even as he thinks the thought, he knows it’s impossible--because one doesn’t just  _ forget _ someone like Park Sungjin. 

_ Maybe I’ll just take a shower when I get home. Sheet masks, that kind of thing.  _

And then there’s the sound of the balcony door opening: a click, a squeak, the sound of wood parting from metal.

“There you are.”

And then there’s warmth--and then there’s the familiar heft and safety of Sungjin’s arms. Wonpil feels his heart lurch, feels himself soften. He turns to face Sungjin, feels the familiar storm kicking up in his stomach at the sight of him: those eyes, watching him like he’s the most beautiful thing they’ve ever beheld, that soft Mona Lisa smile--coming or going, Wonpil never can tell.

Wonpil pouts. “I thought you weren’t coming.” 

“You were right.” Sungjin sighs, gives Wonpil that look that is half-fond, half-exasperated. He pulls Wonpil closer. 

Wonpil tilts his head in curiosity. “You weren’t coming?”

“I was an idiot.”

“Wellll--”

“--they didn’t even invite me. They just assumed I’d say no.” Sungjin sighs. “So you were right. I was being stupid--I--I mean, I want be that guy, you know? The guy that people ask first if it’s something about you because they know I’m your person. I--I want to be  _ your  _ person.”

Wonpil grins. “You won’t flinch if I kiss you on the dance floor?”

Sungjin rolls his eyes. “I”m wearing a hot pink, checkered sweater in your honor for crying out loud.”

Wonpil leans in, then, kissing Sungjin soft, slow. “You going to show off your moves?”

Sungjin laughs, a full, whole laugh, his whole body pitching like a ship in a storm. 

“Come on.” With that, he takes Wonpil’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers as he opens the balcony door, pulls them into the hall. 

When they make it onto the dancefloor, a hush goes through the crowd. Wonpil feels himself blush, realizing that everyone is watching them, realizing that while this  _ thing _ is as old as time for both of them, it’s new for everyone else. Sungjin tugs Wonpil toward him in a dramatic twirl, Wonpil grinning as he ends up in Sungjin’s arms.

“Oh my god! What the fuck is happening?” Brian’s voice comes from the back of the room where he and Jae have just come back into the hall from their rendezvous on the street.

Jae lets out a slow whistle. 

Dowoon is blinking in shock, flabbergasted. 

Wonpil’s heart is pounding. The disco lights dance above them. The world is a prism of color.

Sungjin raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“The best.” 

“You are.” 

“Sungjin, just--”

“--are _you_ going to flinch--”

"--shut up and kiss me--"

And he does--the kiss is warm and soft and tender but passionate. The crowd whoops as Sungjin grins against Wonpil, dipping him back and deepening the kiss, Wonpil’s arms coming to loop around his neck. Wonpil’s heart is pounding, his heart full as he revels in the safety of Sungjin’s arms, the lovingness of his kiss, knowing that for once, he could care less who’s watching. 


End file.
